


As Fate Would Have it

by MagicalStripedHorse



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, we'll see where this takes us
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-05 03:56:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10296905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicalStripedHorse/pseuds/MagicalStripedHorse
Summary: Found this on my computer. It's been sitting there for almost a year. Oops.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Found this on my computer. It's been sitting there for almost a year. Oops.

The storm wasn’t supposed to hit the city before Monday. And yet.

Clarke’s standing outside her front door, portfolio and various canvas-bags in hand, readjusting her rain-coat for what seems like the hundredth time, preparing to face the torrent of rain and wind that’s waiting for her to move. She doesn’t really like the cold, she never has. And if today was any other Saturday, she wouldn’t even be going outside at all.

But, as luck would have it, the storm just had to break the day of her big Fine Arts exhibition. Typical.

She looks down at her wrist-watch again. 8:43. The exhibition is set to start at 9:30, but she still has to set up the last of her pieces. If she doesn’t move now, she won’t make it there in time.

“Now or never, Clarke,” she says to herself and starts sprinting down the front steps as fast as she can without falling. Her car, a ‘79 Opel Kadett, is parked in the street in front of her apartment. Something she now regrets, seeing as though she’ll be soaked to the bone before reaching the driver’s door, despite her coat.

The downpour makes it difficult to see clearly, but she eventually makes it to the car, reaching for the backdoor and carefully placing her bags on the backseat. Once they’re set, she slams the door shut and quickly jumps into the driver’s seat. She pulls at her sopping wet coat, knowing it’s already too late; the rain has managed to drench her new white button-up through the extra layer.

This doesn’t worry her, of course. Three minutes in the car with the heat turned up and she’ll be right as rain, figuratively speaking.

She’s shivering, cursing through clattering teeth as she struggles to put the keys in the ignition, but she finally manages. With her foot firmly planted on the clutch, she turns the key and… Nothing. The car coughs and sputters, but it won’t start. Believing that it’s just because the car has a few years behind it, see tries again, hoping for a better result, but getting no more than a hollow cough before the car goes silent for good.

“No, no, no. No!” She yells, slamming her palms against the center of the steering wheel with each word, the car horn protesting with each hit. “No,” she relents, resting her forehead on the back of her hands.

This, clearly, isn’t her day.

______________________________

Lexa’s fascinated by the rain, lost in the beauty of the storm from where she stands, her back against the counter, in a little coffee shop she found nestled between the apartment buildings. She’s staring out the large bay window, patiently waiting and all the while just watching the world around her, when a gentle tap on her shoulder steals her attention from the rain outside. The barista, whose nametag reads ‘Monty’, gives her a lopsided smile as he hands over the hot chocolate she paid for earlier.

“One hot chocolate, and,” he reaches beneath the counter and places a neatly packed paper bag next to the drink, “a blueberry muffin.” He lifts a hand to his cheek, making sure the empty chairs can’t hear when he whispers “on the house.”

She smiles a small but genuine smile at the guy and is about to say ‘Thank you’ when a car horn starts blaring from outside the store. She shoots around, easily spotting the source, which is the only car, besides her own, that’s parked there. And though the haze from the rain makes it difficult, she can vaguely see the girl in the driver’s seat slamming her hands against the interior in anger before getting out of the car.

“Classy, Clarke.” She hears Monty chuckle.

She turns, her brows furrowing as she speaks. “Is she a friend of yours?”

Monty clearly wasn’t expecting her to hear him. He looks up, surprised. “Oh, kind of. She’s a Fine Art major at the local college, lives across the street. She buys a coffee and waffles here every Sunday morning.” With that he gives one final look out the window before disappearing into the back.

Lexa was, for some inexplicable reason, intrigued to say the least. She remains standing near the counter, watching as the girl, Clarke, popped the hood of her beat up car and started searching for something that could be causing trouble.

Though she had no way of knowing, Lexa could tell Clarke isn’t the mechanic-type, and seeing the girl standing in the pouring rain, with clearly no clue what to do about her problem, Lexa suddenly felt bad for doing nothing but watching. So instead, she averts her gaze and leaves the coffee shop, walking to her car as fast as she can without spilling her drink.

As soon as she’s safely out of the rain, she places her hot chocolate and complimentary muffin on the passenger seat. She’s ready to pull out into the street, ready to drive off and go about her business, but there’s this odd whisper in the back of her head telling her to stay and look up. Stay and look _her_ way.

The more rational part of her would simply ignore the voice, but somehow she can’t find it in her to not look up at the girl in the rain.

Lexa tries to hold out as long as she can, but in the end it only takes one glance in Clarke’s direction. Their eyes lock for a second, frustration and panic written all over Clarke’s face, and Lexa’s heart sinks.

She can’t just drive off now.

She throws her head back against her seat, closing her eyes and sighing, before she pushes the door open and jumps out into the rain. She pulls her black leather jacket over her head in an effort to shield herself from the rain, running across the street and regretting her choice of footwear as her sneakers fill with water from the run-off in the street.

Clarke, who’s staring at her in confusion, doesn’t even seem to notice the rain anymore, her long blonde hair clinging to her face and neck.

Lexa comes to a stop next to Clarke, though careful not to stand too close. She hides further into her jacket when a few drops of rain fall onto her nose.

“Do you need help?” Lexa asks, raising her voice over the sounds of the rain, knowing it was obvious that Clarke did but unable to think of another way to ask.

“Do you know how to fix an engine?” Clarke asks in return, her blue eyes hopeful as she gives Lexa a small smile.

Lexa had no chance. She isn’t a mechanic either.

“Not at all.” She admits and Clarke’s smile goes from hopeful to hopeless in an instant.

Lexa knows she can’t fix the engine, but she has to try to fix Clarke’s smile at the very least. “But,” she begins and Clarke’s head shoots up, her blue eyes glued to Lexa’s grey. “I do have a car with a working engine. I can drive you to wherever it is you need to be…?”

Her offer trails off into a question when Clarke doesn’t respond immediately.

Did she say something wrong? Was it really that odd to offer help to a complete stranger?

“I apologize. Maybe I can just call you a—” She starts, but Clarke effectively shuts her up by taking a hold of her shoulders, a genuine, full smile lighting up her face.

“No, no, thank you. Thank you.” She still has her hands around Lexa’s shoulders, and Lexa doesn’t seem to be able to do anything but give a small smile. “Oh, I just have a few things that I need to take with if it’s still okay?” Clarke asks, letting go off Lexa to put the hood back down.

“It’s not a problem. There will be enough space.” Clarke shoots her another blinding smile as she steps back and reaches for the bags on the backseat. Through the windshield, Lexa could easily see the numerous bags in the back. “Do you need any help?” she calls, still standing in front of the car.

“I’ve got it.” She says, maneuvering the bags. She has most of them in hand when she looks up at Lexa, who’s waiting for her to ask for help. “I’m Clarke.”

“Lexa.” She simply replies.

Once Clarke has hold of her items, the two girls sprint for Lexa’s car, Lexa running ahead to open the trunk. A few seconds later they’re both sitting in the front of Lexa’s beat-up black Mustang, Clarke gladly sinking into the soft leather seats, Lexa’s hot chocolate from earlier now safely tucked into one of the cup-holders between the seats. This is a really nice car, Clarke thinks, scanning the interior from the brand new stereo, the sleek black steering wheel, even the dash-clock—

It read 8:51.

“Shit!” Clarke curses, nearly jumping into the dash. From the corner of her eye, she can see Lexa looking at her in slight shock of her outburst and her cheeks instantly feel red-hot. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just—”

Lexa doesn’t really give a damn about Clarke’s language; her outburst merely drew Lexa’s attention to something a bit… louder. For, as attractive as Clarke’s face may be, Lexa suddenly found it difficult not to notice that Clarke’s hair has soaked the top part of her shirt despite the – unbuttoned – coat that she’s wearing, leaving her bra partially visible underneath the white material. And Lexa was very obviously staring.

“I need to be there and ready by 9:30.” Clarke finishes, thankfully forcing Lexa pull herself together.

Lexa trains her eyes on the road, her hands gripping the steering wheel with a bit more force. “And where is ‘there’, exactly?” Lexa asks, her face showing no sign of betraying what she’d been doing.

“Wells Community College. It’s about four miles—”

“I know the place.” Lexa says, putting the car in gear. “Clarke?” she glances at the girl next to her.

“Yeah?”

“Seatbelt. Now.”

______________________________

Traffic, thankfully, wasn’t a problem; to Clarke, that seems to be only great thing about the weather. The roads, however, seemed a bit more treacherous than usual, but Lexa is clearly no amateur driver.

They’d pulled into a covered parking space outside the main hall with almost twenty-five minutes to spare, though that didn’t stop Clarke from nearly jumping out of a still-moving vehicle. She was out of her seat, grabbing her bags from the trunk before Lexa was fully out of the car.

“Are you still going to refuse my help?” Lexa asks, pulling her jacket over her head once again.

“You already helped by bringing me here.” Clarke says, pulling her last bag from the trunk of the car. “I owe you, big time.” And there’s that smile again. They run up to the entrance, shaking off the worst of the downpour beneath the small awning.

“So,” Clarke begins, breaking the silence that started to fill the air between them. “Thanks, again, Lexa.” The name feels foreign on her lips, and she isn’t altogether sure why, but she likes it.

“It was no problem.” Lexa has her hands in her back pockets, her face strangely devoid of emotion. And, though Lexa was facing her, Clarke sensed that she was looking through her rather than at her.

“This isn’t awkward at all,” Clarke mumbles, shifting around uneasily. “Well, okay. I should probably go,” She takes a step back. “See you around.”

Lexa shuts her eyes, sighing. She can’t just let her walk away. Not like that. “Clarke,” She calls, halting the girl in her tracks, and for a second Lexa just wants to turn and walk away. But she’s already started shrugging off her jacket, pulling her hands from the sleeves, and Clarke was staring at her in confusion, unsure of what was happening. Clarke was still somewhat soaked due to her coat proving to be a complete waste, something Lexa is far more aware of than she should be. “Your shirt, it’s—”

Clarke looks down at her shirt, instantly turning a bright shade red when she notices what Lexa was referring to. “Oh god. I’m so sorry.” She pulls at the clinging material, somehow only managing to make it worse. “I’m such an idiot.” She mumbles, feeling like she’s on fire.

“You don’t need to apologize, Clarke. Just, here,” Lexa says, handing her the jacket, “this might help.”

She hesitates but accepts the offer, another apology hanging on her lips though Lexa’s expression makes it clear she shouldn’t voice it. Instead, she revels in the warmth and woodsy scent of the jacket as she pulls it on, trying desperately not to imagine how much better the source might be. Don’t go there; she chastises herself, shaking her head.

“You’re going to have to let me thank you. You practically saved my life twice now.”

“Clarke, you have to go.” She says, her breath hitching slightly. Clarke looks up at her, and the sight of her wearing Lexa’s jacket is making it a bit harder to focus. Lexa clears her throat. “You’re going to be late.”

“Not until you agree to let me thank you. Properly.” Clarke deadpans.

She’s persistent, Lexa has to admit.

“Alright then.” Lexa sighs.

“Great! Okay, breakfast, tomorrow morning at nine,” Clarke says, her stomach doing an odd little flip when Lexa gives her a shy smile.

And, honestly, Lexa can’t help it. “Alright.” She agrees, backing up toward her car, her eyes on Clarke.

“Perfect,” Clarke calls with a smile, taking a slow step back, “Until tomorrow then.”

By now Lexa is already getting into her car, managing a quick wave as she ducks into the driver side and out of sight, and Clarke can’t help but watch as she drives away in the seconds after.

Maybe there was one more thing good about this day after all…

That’s when it dawns on her; she never told Lexa where they’re going to have breakfast.

“Well, shit.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always welcome (in fact, they're encouraged!)  
> @InkrediblySketchy on IG and  
> Magicalstripedhorse on Tumblr


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